


Who will guide us through the end?

by smell_the_roses



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Police, Harry!Top, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Riding, Rimming, white collar au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smell_the_roses/pseuds/smell_the_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>White Collar AU</p>
<p>Harry Styles lost enthusiasm for his career about the same time England's Most Wanted got put behind bars. Now he's forced to reconcile something long lost to solve a new case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who will guide us through the end?

**Author's Note:**

> The start of something. Title from Vampire Weekend's "Worship You"
> 
> Thanks to Aubrey for reading this over (even so, all mistakes are mine).
> 
> (basically this whole fic is me trying to write something that isn't PWP but there's still smut so)

There’s a crack on the desk about four centimeters in length that runs along the outer left hand side. The crack has been there longer than Harry Styles has been working in this department. Maybe older than his entire lifetime. When he first transferred he remembers trying to cover it up with paperwork, pencils, really anything that would mask the crack so that Harry could keep it out of his peripherals. At some point he gave up. He doesn’t recall when.

Presently, Harry has two stacks of uncompleted paperwork and filing to do, his co-worker and sometimes partner Liam Payne is going over a new case they have been assigned, and Harry’s eyes are glued to the crack.

“They’re calling her the Night Rose. Three million pounds worth of paintings gone within an hour,” Liam says. Harry imagines he has that crazed look in his eyes that he gets when he talks about a new assignment.

Harry used to have a similar look. “Two of those paintings were stolen from private property. We have no authority there.” He finally looks up to see that Liam does indeed look a touch too excited.

“We’ve dealt with that before,” Liam replies hurried with a wave of his hand. He’s already walking towards the lifts, probably expecting Harry to follow.

He follows but isn’t happy about it. “We didn’t exactly handle that legally,” he rebutes, failing to catch up with the fast pace Liam keeps. His own long legs be damned.

“I would have slept with him anyways, Styles. Given the choice, of course. I just so happened to do it while we were investigating his mother’s case,” Liam says and waves with his left hand. As though he’s waving off their past illegal actions from existence.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep this up every day. “That argument doesn’t hold up in court and I have paperwork to do.”

Liam actually stops and laughs at Harry. Hard. “We’re with the national security. We have the best lawyers at the snap of our fingers.” He turns and regards Harry with a few critical once overs. “What has been your problem lately?”

Harry lost interest in chasing crime ages ago. About the same time England’s number one white collar criminal was caught and locked away for the rest of his life and then some. It’s hard not to think about it when he’s surrounded by people like him. Harry supposes everyone’s exes get under their skin like Louis Tomlinson did to him.

“You really don’t want this case?” Liam asks seriously.

Harry shakes his head. “I’m going to sit it out. Don’t want to spend the weekend clearing my desk of overdue workloads.”

“Suit yourself,” Liam dismisses and shoves past, hardly giving Harry a second glance. “I’ll have Paul reassign it for you.”

Harry doesn’t bother responding because Liam is already in their superior’s office talking to Paul Higgins. Sighing, he returns to his desk, taps the crack a few times, and gets to work on a former identity fraud assignment he finished last quarter. Closing cases is an aged process that needs to be digitalized but no one in their department has the time nor motivation to convert it to the digital files. Instead of tapping out blanks on an online document, Harry goes through and fills out paper after paper. Some of them more necessary than others but if any go blank, his neck is on the line. Eventually, he pushes through and finishes his workload with an hour to spare before their weekly departmental meeting.

Outside his enclosed cubicle, the entire floor is bustling about in a quick speed that Harry envies. His heavy footsteps feel loud in comparison. Loud and slow. But he can’t bring himself to pick up the pace. Not when he doesn’t exactly have anywhere he’d like to go. So, he decides to take a coffee break and goes to the breakroom to do just that.

The holiday season brought on gifts and the break room is filled with biscuits, puddings, and other christmas delicacies. Harry nimbles on a chocolate biscuit while he flicks on the coffee pot, watching as the old thing spouts out browned liquid. It reeks of burnt coffee beans but Harry doesn’t bother changing it out. He hates the beverage either way. Just drinks it because he knows Louis hates it more than he does. Not like it makes a difference having coffee breath anymore but it’s the little, petty things that help Harry feel better about his situation.

By the time he finishes his break, he notices that maybe his department is moving a bit more hectic than it normally does and he pulls aside Horan to attempt to understand what is happening.

“She’s a copycat,” Niall explains. His eyes shine similarly to Liam’s. “We’re pulling out all of Tommo’s old files.”

Harry’s neck feels on fire and his stomach churns. “Tommo?” he breaths the name, scared for it to reach a volume that will bring attention to himself. No one knows. Louis refused to go to work parties. In retrospect, Harry understands his reasonings now.

He craves another cup of coffee.

His reaction makes Niall double take. Eyebrows raised, he comments, “The thing about copycats is that they’re just copycats, Harry. Tomlinson is locked up for a while. You’re safe.”

Harry just nods and smiles weakly. “She should be easy to catch now, right?”

Niall waves him off and points to the conference room by Paul’s office. “Let’s hope so, yeah? C’mon, Paul wants to update the department before the weekend. Liam’s got an update on the case.”

Harry grimaces and nods, following his fellow co workers into the conference hall. Niall chats a bit about his upcoming weekend plans. Even going so far as to invite Harry along. The office knows of a failed relationship, even if they are unaware of who his partner really was so he has been getting invitations to more of these single mingle nights more often than not. He might just take it up this time around.

The conference area is the biggest room of the floor so as to be able to hold the entire white collar crime department. It’s also the ugliest room that Harry has ever been in by far. The walls are yellowed white wallpaper with streaks of brown grime. There are three ceiling fans that don’t work and five windows with a view of the office building right next to their own. In the front, right dab in the middle of the wall, there’s a massive chalkboard with cracks and scratches that show it’s age. The whole area smells of mildew and stress.

Harry takes a seat near the back and eyes the picture of his former boyfriend on the chalkboard. Niall takes the spot next to him and laughs a bit to himself.

“What is it?” Harry asks, accepting the distraction easily.

Niall shrugs a bit. “Just that the last time I looked at that photo, you had caught the bastard and put him behind bars. He looks so young, Jesus.”

Harry hums his agreement, feeling exhausted to the bone. And then a portion of Niall’s thought sticks out. “Wait, I didn’t catch Tommo. I wasn’t even assigned to his case,” he points out, voice carrying his exhaustion. Wary and slow.

“Didn’t you tip off Paul?” Niall asks, head tilting with his curiosity.

Harry shifts his full attention to Niall, ignoring how Paul seems to be trying to start the meeting. “That was an anonymous tip.”

“That’s not what was in the files,” Niall reasons and Harry heart races. He didn’t want his name to be associated with Louis Tomlinson in anyway shape or form in this department. He can’t rewrite his history with the man but their relationship was never brought to light. It couldn’t have been. No one knew beyond Harry’s own mother. That call he made to Paul when he made the connection between his Louis and the Tommo came after a massive fight and he made certain that Higgins knew to mark it as anonymous.

It seems something went wrong between the phone call and the paperwork.

“We have a lot to discuss in the next hour. Bring your attention forward,” Paul yells out. It stops the indistinctive chatter that was buzzing in the room. “Ah, thank you. As you may have heard, our newest and busiest case has been linked to an old friend of ours. Liam, if you could take it from here.”

Liam nods and stands in front of the room, eyes following his quick movements. “Smith and I have gone through the records between Ms. Rose and the Tommo and have found reason to believe the Night Rose is a copycat.” The room keeps still, no one surprised. “It’s a longshot, but it’s the best theory we have at the moment.”

A new officer, Leigh-Anne Pinnock, raises her hand and asks, “You seemed so sure in your report this afternoon of the connection between the two criminals. What happened?”

Liam chuckles and runs a hand through his quiffed hair. He looks younger when he laughs, brown eyes squinting with each wave of laughter. He’s definitely the fittest officer in this department, by far. Harry’s contemplated taking him out more than once, but office romance is the sort of drama he really doesn’t need in his life right now. Plus he knows deep down that him and Liam wouldn’t last. To be fair, Harry is starting to suspect that long-lasting relationships don’t exist. Not for him, at the very least.

“The cases match up in every area that counts. Impressionist paintings are a favourite of Tommo, the only evidence left behind was a small token, a rose in regards to our current case, and there’s a point of entry into the premises but no escape that we can decipher. It’s all very up in the air and we’re going off of the fact that Tommo is a popular criminal among these parts. Copycats are bound to follow his five year criminal spree.”

Paul twitches in his seat and stands up. “The biggest similarity we have between the Night Rose and the Tommo is person who tipped us.” Harry dips his head when Niall inevitably turns to look at him and then frowns at the ground. He hasn’t been involved in this case at all and would appreciate being left out entirely. “The tipper hinted that Louis Tomlinson would be familiar with this criminal.”

“That doesn’t make a copycat,” Niall voices, having given up trying to make eye contact with Harry.

Liam shrugs. “As I said, the similarities are there but it’s what we have to go off of right now.”

Niall continues to shake his head. “No, your tipper just said that your best chances of catching Rose is through Tommo. It’s obvious isn’t it?” he asks the department, “We ask Tommo.”

The already quiet room goes deathly still. Harry is the only one who can’t keep his body motionless, bouncing his knee subtly. It moves in tune with his own heartbeat. Fast. Faster than he has moved in a while.

Paul clears his throat and dismisses everyone, asking for Niall, Liam, and Harry to meet with him in his office in a half hour.

“You didn’t tip off for this case?” Niall asks quietly as everyone starts to leave.

“I didn’t know about it until this morning,” Harry dismisses easily.

He moves passed Niall and trudges to his cubicle where he grabs a notepad and pen. Then he waits, leaning up against his desk and tapping an unknown rhythm into the crack of the desk. Part of him hopes it will open up and take him in whole but he’s grown enough to face his own anxieties. Or well, that’s what he tells himself to keep his feet planted.

Ten minutes later and Harry is trudging for Paul’s office, watching a few curious eyes follow his path. The office door is open, waiting. Harry closes it behind himself and slowly breathes in enough air to fill his lung’s capacity and let’s it out in one big gust.

“It was an anonymous tip.”

Paul doesn’t look up from his computer. “Anonymous tips don’t grant us warrants into people’s flats, let alone imprison a wanted criminal.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He feels anger, yes, but he curses the portion of him that understands. That knows when you’re so close to catching a felon, especially one as wanted as Tommo, you will take anything you can get. The more you wait on it, the easier it is for them to get away. He’s still angry but he gets it.

“Listen,” Paul beckons, looking up with a frown. “I’ve let you sit out whatever you needed to sit on long enough. I don’t need anymore pencil pushers, I need my field agent back. If you can’t handle that, you will be transferred to a different department so someone else can do it.”

Before Harry can say anything, Liam is knocking on the door and poking his head in. “Cheers,” he says to them, leading Niall on through and closing the door behind both of them. “Does this meeting mean what I think it means?”

“Who tipped us,” Niall demands, cutting right to the chase.

Paul looks away from Harry, leaning back in his chair and yawning to himself. “Anonymous, Horan. As for you, Liam, I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Harry knows where this conversation is going. Everyone in this room knows where it’s going. Instead of sitting still, he moves to the window and listens from there. It’s nearing on the late afternoon hour which means the sun is shining on the other side of the office. The window showcases the heart of London and Harry counts the double-decker tour buses that pass underneath the window. When he gets bored of that, he imagines the glass disappearing and some strange force pushing him out of the window where he’d fall on a cloud and taken somewhere far, far away from this room. Far away from the last dredges of his miserable career.

“I need to talk to the head of the national security, but I am planning on taking Louis Tomlinson on as a consultant,” Paul informs the group.

Harry hears Liam’s incredulous voice. “That’s ridiculous? Why would he want to help the people who locked him away?”

Paul answers back lazily, almost like he’s consoling a child. “We’ve done this sort of thing before. We offer them what they want: freedom,” Harry winces and is suddenly glad he’s facing away from the group. “If he can help solve this case, we take a few years off his sentence. Or at least, that’s what I am assuming we’ll offer. Maybe the head of security will choose to move him somewhere nicer instead.”

Niall comments, his Irish accent soothing compared to the harsh of Paul’s stern voice, “I say we do it. What other leads do we have? If the Night Rose continues like this, we’ll have another Tommo case.”

“Either way, we’ll solve this one faster than Tommo’s,” Liam cuts in, clearly irritated by Niall’s implication.

Paul hums and there’s a creak that Harry assumes is his office chair. “I agree with both of you. Either way, I need to speak to my boss. Harry, tomorrow morning you and I will visit Tommo and give him the deal.”

God, he was expecting it but it still comes as a shock to his system. Out of the three of them, Harry is the only one currently not working on an open case. He closes his eyes and waits for Liam and Niall to leave the room before turning around. Paul is watching him, both hands crossed across his chest, puffing out his upper body.

“If I know you, and I think I do,” Paul starts and Harry has to bite his tongue to keep from childishly lashing out at that statement. “You and Tomlinson have some sort of history.” He waits for Harry to dismiss his claim, which makes sense seeing as it would be a ridiculous claim in any other circumstance. But Harry doesn’t say anything and Paul nods. “I have an idea of how I am going to go about this and I don’t want you there to mess it up. I will take Niall tomorrow and you can take over the case he is dealing with currently.” 

It’s a dismissal and Harry takes it as much, leaving without a glance back.

“Harry,” Paul calls after him and Harry wants to stomp around, kick over a few bins for his trouble. When he looks back, Paul finishes with, “You’re good at your job. Don’t make me send you away.”

“I can’t make you do anything, Sir,” he can’t help but say and Paul hums.

“Good point.”

Harry finally leaves the office entirely, moving faster than he has in month to get to the other side of the floor before Paul decides to add more cliches to the conversation. He finds Niall in the breakroom and brews himself some coffee.

***

Niall has a very straight forward insurance fraud case. It’s mostly paperwork at this point, which Harry is grateful for because he isn’t quite ready to get himself moving. He’s slow again today. Slower, honestly. There’s a heaviness in his heart and he just can’t stop thinking about how Paul is talking to his Louis and it hurts even more because he has to remind himself that Louis isn’t his. If anything, Louis now belongs to the government, living in his confinement and servicing the country that way for everything he has done.

Mostly he’s anxious because he’s certain that Louis knows that Harry sold him out and everything about their relationship has been rough, especially near the end, but Harry can imagine Louis never forgiving him for this. He’s not sure if he can forgive Louis for keeping such a massive secret from him either. So he hopes. Prays that despite Louis helping with this case, if he chooses to help which Harry is certain he will, Harry won’t have to see him.

Of course, as his prayers often do, this one falls through.

He gets a ring from Paul around lunch.

“He won’t do it until he sees you,” Paul says. He’s angry. Harry has never heard him this angry.

Harry is quick to respond. “Absolutely not.”

A sigh. “I know but that’s all he wants. To solve this case he wants to have an hour alone with you in a room to talk. Nothing else. He’s agreed to putting in a one-way window and extra security outside the room, as well,” Paul continues. The voices and background noise on his end cut out suddenly and Paul is whispering, “Harry, if you don’t take this offer, he has an alternative and it’s less pleasant for everyone involved.”

Harry switches ears with the phone and leans forward so his head is on his desk. He resists the urge to smack himself silly across it so he doesn’t have to make this decision right now. “What is the alternative,” he asks just as quietly.

“Anklet tracker. He’ll work hand in hand with us on the case and then go right back into solitary confinement with a few years off his life sentence.”

Harry is already shaking his head before Paul even finishes. “We can’t let him out, even with the tracker. He’s just too clever.”

“I know this, you know this, he knows this. I’ll leave this up for you to decide but I believe the decision is straightforward — ”

“Paul, I can’t meet with him. Please, there must be a third way,” Harry pleads, he lifts his head up to find the crack in his desk and places his shaky pointer finger on it to feel the torn wood against his skin.

It’s still quiet on the other end. “Harry, I don’t know how else to say this: he has the power right now and he knows it. He knows we need him and he’s using the leverage to get what he wants and apparently what he wants is to see you.”

Harry takes a shuddery breath in and nods to himself. “When does he want me.”

***

Wandsworth Prison is one of the largest prisons in the Western Europe. Built centuries ago, Harry feels unable to look at much more than the security taking him in. All he really recognises is that it’s chilly inside the dark grey and brown stone building. The colours are muted yellow and blues and he’s guided to where Paul, a number of security officers, and a well dressed man with dark skin and bright eyes are waiting for him.

He approaches Paul first and accepts the handshake. Paul comments, “You didn’t keep us waiting long,” as though Harry was worried about that.

“Too late to change my mind?” Harry asks only half jokingly.

Paul smiles good heartedly but shrugs, “I have no issue with that. Maybe check with Tomlinson’s lawyer first.”

The man in the suit approaches him then and Harry hardly looks him in the eyes. He recognises him now. Zayn Malik has shaved his head since the trial but he still has that glint in his eyes. The kind that makes Harry feel like he’s on the outside of some globally acknowledged joke.

“Hope you’re well,” Malik says with a charming smile. “Did you get my fruit basket? For the holidays? Louis mentioned something about you not liking melons but I feel like watermelon is a necessity to the aesthetic.”

Harry blinks and looks behind himself to check to see if Zayn is talking to someone else and then he faintly remember a fruit basket being delivered to him that he gave to his next door neighbour whose kids thought the watermelon cut roses were beautiful. “Oh right, yes thanks. Um, how’re things, Zayn?” he attempts awkwardly. Zayn was always just Louis’s friend. They got along and Harry never minded him but they both were too busy with their respective occupations to push for more than a friendly hello.

“Broke off my engagement a while back. Sort of settling myself into the dating scene again. Forgot how difficult it is to find someone worth the effort,” Zayn comments lightly, smile kept in place. He shrugs, like it’s an everyday occurrence to break off weddings and turns to the nearest guard. “Is he ready?” he asks them, cutting his conversation with Harry short.

“He’s ready when you are,” the man answers Zayn, eyes on Harry.

Harry nods in acknowledgement and glances around a bit, relaxing when Paul grasps and holds his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, Harry,” he repeats and god. Harry is starting to feel dizzy.

It’s not particularly pleasant, the waiting room. There are five guards stationed for the meeting, and they are a respectful distance away, waiting but averting their eyes from where Harry is standing. Paul’s presence isn’t all that settling to Harry right now and, well, Zayn’s entire existence reminds him of Louis. So, he only takes a few breaths to console himself, listens a little to Zayn’s humming tune, and nods at the previous guard to be lead in.

The moment he sees Louis, he nearly turns around and walks out again. There’s a table in the middle of the room with two chairs on either side. Louis is occupying one, his hands kept in his own lap. His uniform is too big. Of course it is. The bright green trousers and grey shirt just fall off his limbs and it’s like the last lazy Sunday they had together when Louis decided to fuck off into Harry’s wardrobe and watch hours of American football with Harry. Not because he actually likes the sport but because he thinks Harry’s interest is “entirely too adorable” for him to miss. He even got up and mixed Harry’s favourite margaritas for him every once in awhile, keeping him nice and buzzed. They kissed a lot, that night. Harry remembers because it had been so long since they’ve shown each other affection that it felt like relearning how to kiss Louis. He likes to think he picked it up quickly.

Louis looks like he wants to stand up, but he has a guard placing a stern hand on his shoulder and Harry walks tentatively over to the chair across from him. He goes to sit when Louis’s voice calls out, loud and desperate to be heard.

“Wait, c’mon Will, you promised,” he rasps, eyes staring up at the guard holding onto his shoulder. Harry knows how hard it is to resist that look and isn’t surprised when the guard gives in and let’s go of Louis’s shoulder. He stands at once and holds a hand outstretched in front of Harry. “Hello, Harry,” he says in that gentle voice that Harry always cherished.

It’s an out of body experience, touching Louis again. Even shaking his delicate hand for the seconds the guard allows. Then they’re both sitting and regarding one another while Will encloses one of Louis’s wrists in the handcuff attached to the table. “Be good,” Will the guard tells Louis sternly before leaving and Harry has to avert his eyes. Feeling embarrassed on behalf of his former boyfriend.

“Told me I could have you all to myself as long as I cuffed a hand to the table,” Louis simply informs Harry and shrugs. He’s smiling.

Harry isn’t sure what to say to that or in general. He spent the last hour just preparing to be in the same room with Louis and didn’t get beyond that and now he’s stuck staring at the freckles on Louis’s face that have and will always be on him. The crinkles next to his eyes are also present, Harry is happy to note. But it feels so different look at him now that he knows the biggest secret Louis’s kept from him. Different knowing he gave Louis up without a second thought.

Louis isn’t different. Harry is.

“Did you get the fruit basket? With the watermelon roses?” Louis asks to break the silence.

He nods and attempts to smile back. “Yes, Lou.”

Louis must think the grimace on his face has to do with it because he’s complaining, “I told Zayn not to add those watermelons. I’m sure the company could have gotten the same effect with strawberries or pineapples but he wouldn’t listen to me. No one listens to me anymore. They stick an ugly outfit on you, tell you you’re here until you die, and then decide what you say isn’t important anymore. It’s annoying.”

“I gave the basket to the small family next door. I wasn’t home when it was delivered so they were holding it for me and the little ones fell in love with it,” Harry explains, blush burning his neck. He doesn’t know what to say about that last part, so he chooses not to say anything.

Louis’s smile widens and then his head tilts slightly to the left. “What do you mean, you weren’t home? I instructed it be delivered on Wednesday at 4.05 pm, the time you get home from work so that the fruit wouldn’t get spoilt.”

Harry feels a wave of exhaustion, his head and limbs heavy with it, again. “What did you want to talk about, Louis?” he asks, eyes dropping to the hand chained in front of him. Reminds himself they aren’t together anymore and Louis is a criminal.

“The fruit basket, obviously. Why else would I mention it?” Louis returns. The tone isn’t exactly snappy but it is more harsh than his previous, gentle voice.

Harry can’t help but feel irritated but he puts it off. No use arguing for an hour. If Louis wants to talk fruit baskets, they can talk fruit baskets. “I didn’t see it,” he states. “Trish walked over with the girls and mentioned it and I didn’t give it a second thought. Just told them to keep it and went along with my life.”

“Where were you before? You’re always home on Wednesdays at 4.05 pm,” Louis asks, he looks so small. So confused as to why Harry’s life couldn’t be as organised as it was before.

It startles him how sympathetic Harry feels at the moment, enough so that he’s gentle with the next words he chooses to say. “I was home early on those days because you would want to watch Game of Thrones together and would get sad if I missed it,” he divulges, not missing the way Louis’s eyes widen and then water.

“Right, guess I should’ve known that,” Louis mutters and Harry doesn’t comment. “Well, I left a note. Silly thing just wished you a happy holidays but I hoped it would help.”

“It was a nice gesture,” Harry allows and Louis nods to himself before smiling brightly again.

“You look well, Hazza. I’m glad,” he declares, the tears gathered in his eyes get blinked out and stream across the crinkles of his eyes to fall down his cheeks.

This is not really how Harry thought this would go. Not that he gave it much thought but they did fight a lot near the end. Enough so that he really wasn’t expecting Louis to weep seeing him. He feels out of sorts and can’t help but reach for Louis’s hand on the table. Just to confirm this is all real, if nothing else.

“Don’t,” Louis yelps, chained hand slamming back and forth in its restraints.

Harry winces and pulls his hand back, holding it against his chest momentarily.

Louis nods at the mirror on the right wall, the one way window that Harry knew would be present but forgot in the moment, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “I can’t let them know, Harry,” he mutters under his breath and it’s so absurd. So hilarious and yet Harry feels no need to laugh. 

He nods his head with an, “Of course,” because their relationship has always been quiet. Muted around others for some fear Louis possessed.

“The case is simple,” Louis continues, head facing Harry but eyes glancing at the window. He clears his throat and smiles again. Strikingly beautiful as always. “I’ve overlooked the files and talked with a few friends. I believe I knew who it is.”

For some reason, Harry doesn’t understand what Louis is talking about at first and then he remembers. The Tommo. Right. “Ah, right. So, erm, who is it?” he stammers, breaking eye contact because it hurts.

“I’ll tell you after you read the note.”

Harry looks around and leans forward a bit. Louis leans back. “Note? What note?” 

“The one I wrote you for the fruit basket, Hazza. Please.” Louis crowds more into himself, looking even smaller.

“You told me what you wrote,” Harry answers, narrowing his eyes.

Louis clenches his eyes shut and breaths. “I know I did, Darling, but I want you to read it, please. And then I’ll tell you who the Night Rose is.” Harry gives up and nods his consent causing Louis to beam again.

“I have one more favour,” Louis says and Harry is quick to hold his hands up.

“Haven’t I given you enough,” he pleads and Louis blinks at him slowly. He turns his face away, hurt and Harry wants to reach across and fix it. Just out of instinct, he tells himself. “What do you want?” he asks, quiet.

It takes a moment but Louis gives in, a blush deepening the red on his face. “I asked the guards to handcuff my hands behind my back when they return. I was hoping you would,” he ducks his head, blush flaming the tips of his ears, “embrace me for a while.”

Harry isn’t sure he wants to. “You wouldn’t let me hold your hand but you want me to hold you,” he states and Louis’s head ducks further.

“It’s different,” he argues.

“It isn’t,” Harry retaliates. Louis pouts and it is so familiar. So much like Harry remembers that he finds himself agreeing.

Louis waves his uncuffed hand and the five guards come in within ten seconds, they all seem to be in on Louis’s plan, because two go behind Harry and three rearrange Louis’s so his hands are cuffed behind his back and two guards are holding his arms and legs in place. Harry walks over slowly, closely followed by his guards, and when he’s toe and toe with Louis his guards and Louis’s guards form a protective barrier, blocking them from the view of the window.

It’s so well thought out and clever that Harry takes a step back for a moment before thinking better of it and wrapping his arms firmly around Louis’s upper shoulders and neck, pulling him into his own chest and holding his head close to his heart. He buries his own nose into Louis’s hair and breathes in the unfamiliar chemicals. It’s too strange. Not familiar enough, so Harry loosens his grip so he can push his face into Louis’s neck and nose at the soft skin he finds there, feel the familiar shivers of his actions and just remember this.

“I don’t know you anymore,” he tells Louis, lips tracing the words into Louis’s skin. His body reacts the same way it always has, melting into Harry. The only thing missing are the tiny fists that wrinkle his shirt.

“I’m the same,” Louis responds stubbornly. The words sound thick with emotion. He’s sniffling and Harry holds him tighter.

Harry gives him that with a hum and then clarifies, “I don’t think I ever knew you.”

Louis doesn’t fight him on that and the guards gently pull him away, Harry fighting against himself to keep him there for longer. His head hurts. His heart hurts. He’s nearly as physically ill as he is emotionally.

“Read the note and we’ll finish the hour,” Louis commands, voice weak.

Harry leaves and the room and makes eye contact with Zayn before walking to Paul and confirming he will be okay with a nod. The party of them are guided out of the prison whilst Paul discusses late lunch plans to go over what they will do. 

Moments before Harry joins Paul in the cabbie, Zayn pulls him aside and slips a paper into his hand, smile gone and eyes serious.

Harry doesn’t mention it.

***

Years Earlier

***

It’s not surprising Harry finds himself like this. Both hands gripping the man’s hips as he helplessly grinds himself forward. In fact, he embraces it, lifting the smaller bloke up so he can wrap his arms around his waist and pin him against himself, back to chest. His soft hair by the temples of his head have been drenched in sweat but Harry noses at one, smelling the musk and feeling more than just pleasure on his clothed dick.

The man chuckles and hums, little hands coming up to pull Harry’s head down to rest on his shoulder and keeping him there while he uses the position to arch his arse more firmly into Harry’s erection. Harry moans brokenly into his ear and feels the boy shudder at the sound.

“Please take me home,” the man whines high in his throat, wiggling against Harry until he releases him. He keeps close to Harry, turning around so they’re facing each other and throwing himself back into Harry’s embrace.

As out of control as he feels, Harry still manages to find his voice and lean down to nose at the man’s neck until he tilts it enough for Harry to nibble on. He whispers against it, feeling entire shivers run through the bloke’s body at the action. “You’re a clever little thing. Had your eyes on me the second I walked in. Kept the other boys and girls away from me until I picked you, didn’t you?”

He gasps, hands clenching the back of Harry’s neck so hard the nails dig in. God, Harry has to blink the erotic pain away and occupies himself with placing tiny licks where his lips were pressed to feel a heartbeat with his tongue.

“C’mon baby, I have you figured out,” he teases and bites the man’s neck. Hard.

When he pulls away, the bloke’s mouth is open in a silent scream, eyes clenched shut. He blinks them open, they’re wide and teary but mostly blown. The black over taking the brilliant blues.

“Guilty,” he whimpers, panting hard. “Wanted you,” he adds more quietly.

Harry rewards him by diving down and taking his lips, moving his own gently but firmly controlling the motions until the man is moaning and opening his mouth. Then, Harry pulls back again and sighs. “Do you always get what you want?” he asks him rhetorically but the man is quick to respond, nodding and smiling like the devil.

“I take what I want,” he corrects and ducks down out of Harry’s arms. He adjusts himself, smile crooked, before reaching over and grabbing a firm hold on Harry’s right hand. “Your place,” he decides for them and yanks Harry across the forgotten Holiday party festivities.

Harry makes a mental note to thank his sister for giving him her invitation to a “cool university” friend’s New Year’s Eve party. It’s been quite the event. They arrived two hours before the countdown and each time Harry would pick someone up, they would disappear just as quickly as they came. It took a few of them before Harry figured out the pattern and picked up a few more just to spite this man. It was a fun little game until minutes before the countdown started and Harry worried he wouldn’t be able to find the bloke in time to give him a kiss. He should have known not to worry.

“What’s your name?” Harry asks once the biting chill of the night crowds them closer to one another.

He looks more ethereal outside with the moonlight being the only source of light. Like a faerie or pixie. Something beautiful and mysterious. “What do you think it is?” he asks back, limbs fidgeting until Harry traps him firmly in his arms, shielded from the wind.

“You’re much too pretty to have a normal name. Maybe something no one understands?” Harry reasons and starts making weird guttural noises that the man laughs loudly at until his shaking with giggles. “What’s mine name then?” he demands, curiosity finishing his own fun.

He answers the question easily, leading both of them to what is miraculously Harry’s vehicle. “Your name is Harry.”

Taken aback, Harry frowns and blinks into the night air. “That’s not fair,” he states and pats his pockets for his keys to get them someplace not so cold. Even as cute as the man’s red nose is. “You made me guess yours when you already knew mine.”

He shrugs. “I had to figure yours out too,” he reasons, pulling Harry’s keys from his own pockets and jiggling them in front of Harry’s nose.

The buzz of the one poorly made margarita Harry had earlier wore off ages ago. Sometime when he realised that this man was playing games with him. He wishes he was drunk now. Maybe he’d feel less threatened by what was happening before him if he were.

“Listen, you’re adorable but I’m starting to get freaked out,” he decides to say on a whim, watching as Louis unlocks his faulty car door with ease and crawls across the driver’s seat to take his spot.

“I’m Louis,” the man says and waves a tiny, cute little wiggle of his hand. “Sorry, I don’t usually get this far.”

Harry wants to ask what he means, but Louis looks so tiny and self conscious that he has to climb into the car and pull him back in for a cuddle. “You’re lucky you’re bloody fit,” he jokes when they pull apart and Louis blinks beautifully at him.

“Your place, then?” he asks softly, crushing Harry’s heart and sending the blood pulsing downward.

“Give me a second,” he answers and counts to ten in his head before adjusting himself and pulling his seatbelt on. “I don’t suppose you know where I live too?” he mutters under his breath when he turns the car on.

“You look posh so I hope it isn’t complete rubbish,” Louis snaps, sounding hurt by Harry’s accusation and. Jesus. Yeah, that was harsh.

He turns and waits for Louis to look at him before he apologises, “Sorry, I was really freaked out earlier when you knew my name.”

Louis rolls his eyes and smiles. “It’s not that hard to figure it out when you’re handing it out to every bird or bloke you find fit.”

Right, that makes sense. Harry relaxes and leans forward to catch Louis’s lips in between his own. A sweet little kiss he hasn’t given anyone in a while. Not since he temporarily gave up serious relationships. “Can I say something terrible?” he asks, hoping his smile is enough to win Louis’s affections again.

It seems to be working. “Okay,” Louis hesitates and Harry bites back a manic, toothy smile that’s itching to work it’s way on his face.

“I’m glad you found out my name because you’ll be screaming it here soon,” he says, failing to keep a straight face and giggling himself silly.

Louis looks shocked a second before bursting out into laughter and reaching over to place light slaps all over Harry’s chest and arms. “Oh my god, that was horrible,” Louis groans making Harry laugh harder. “Take me home, you wanker,” Louis commands and Harry agrees.

As he anticipated, the roads are being watched heavily by police vehicles, so he drives carefully, humming along to Christmas carols while Louis chats about anything and everything. Mostly about how annoying Harry was picking up randoms when Louis was _c_ _learly_  available. Harry laughs at the absurdity of the situation and comments on how Louis didn’t even approach him when most of the other “randoms” did just that. Louis gives him a full minute of the silent treatment before relenting and chattering on about university and his classes.

The closer they get to Harry’s place, the more antsy Louis starts getting. He wiggles against his seat belt, unplugging it until Harry scolds him to put it back on and then playing with the straps for the rest of the drive. He talks fast, faster than Harry can follow while driving and he ends up picking up bits of details about how Louis gets bored with most of the people he tries to take home because they don’t “get him” or they end up just being boring in general. It’s hard to understand clearly so Harry tries not to wrap his head around it too much.

The second they pull into his neighbourhood, Louis goes deathly still, voice stopping mid sentence. Harry is worried to say the least and figures out as he parks in his usual spot that maybe Louis was omitting the truth when Harry accused him of knowing where he lived. When he goes to confront Louis, he finds the boy breathing harshly, hand in his trousers and tugging at himself. He opens his eyes and moans prettily when he finds Harry watching him.

“Louis, please,” he says, eyes following the frantic movements Louis’s hand is making. “Don’t come, I want to see you properly first, baby.”

“Take me home,” Louis repeats, completely unnecessarily because Harry is out of his car, racing to help Louis out already. “Make me scream your name,” Louis breaths into Harry’s ear, hands where Harry can see them, feet following his larger steps up a series of stairs.

Jesus, it definitely still sounds terrible but god, Louis is so hot.

They reach his door and Harry pulls the boy up against his chest, reaching to unlock the door knob easily while shushing Louis with a, “I’ve got you baby.”

The second the door is open, Louis is gone, running and removing his clothes one article at a time. Harry slams the door behind himself and follows the trail to his room, finding Louis with only a pair of bright blue pants, looking around Harry’s room and muttering to himself.

“Baby,” Harry groans helplessly.

“Why aren’t you naked? You should be naked by now,” Louis complains, ripping through Harry’s wardrobe, looking for something.

Harry doesn’t get naked, per se, he removes his tight black jeans and black top and leans back against the wall. He watches Louis frantically go through his things and palms himself. Maybe it’s wrong to get more and more turned on by how frazzled Louis gets by the second, but, to be fair, Louis’s arse jiggles freely now that he’s out of his trousers and Harry is quite enamored by the sight.

He stops when he notices Louis in an actual panicked state, upturning everything with shaky hands and immediately goes to grab him, pulling him in close and digging his nose into the hair on his temple almost on instinct.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s happening right now?” He asks, feeling terrible for not stopping Louis sooner.

Louis is muttering gibberish about how they’re losing time so Harry makes them count to thirty together before taking deep, deep breaths. Louis collapses into him, the shaking long since subsided. His face is buried enough that Harry can’t see it so he waits until Louis pulls away to ask again.

“What happened?”

Louis shakes his head and then laughs. “I timed it,” he confesses and the clenches his eyes shut. Harry waits for Louis to open his eyes before asking for an explanation. “I calculated the time it would take to get naked and prepped but I couldn’t find your lube so I panicked,” he details and then lets out a defeated breath.

Oh. “Well that’s not what I expected. Do you want to start over again so we can time it properly?”

Louis shakes his head. “It isn’t sexy and I wanted to be sexy.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who judges what I find sexy, but I can see your point.” Harry crosses to his bed and flops back, resting his ached spine. He’s been crouching over Louis so much tonight that just stretching out is a relief, in itself. He beckons Louis over and smoothes his hands all along his body. Louis crawls across his chest and rests there.

“Forty seven minutes and thirteen seconds. Twelve minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” Louis says, lips pressed up against his sternum. The vibration of his voice feel nice.

“Pardon?” he asks, feeling more tired now than turned on.

Louis shifts so that he’s leaning over Harry’s face and regarding him seriously. “You drove slowly but so we were a couple minutes off, but I calculated forty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds to get from the party here and it should have only taken me twelve minutes and twenty-seven seconds to get to your room and prepped,” Louis tells Harry, looking right into his eyes, unflinching. The next part brings a blush to his cheeks, but he maintains eye contact. “I didn’t know how long the sex would last so I decided not to calculate it.”

“So you knew where I lived,” Harry stated.

Louis shuffles a bit above him, but holds strong. “Your ID has your address on it. I have google maps on my phone. Not that big of a deal.”

Harry hums and allows it. “Is this something you do all the time. Did you time everything about tonight?”

“Yes, I suppose I did. I was hoping you’d find me faster but you always surprise me,” Louis says and then leans back and hops off the bed.

Harry watches him try to put his room back together before giving up and sheepishly moving for his door. “Where are you going?” he asks the skittish boy.

“Home?” he asks and Harry nods.

“If you want, but I’d like for you to stay.”

Louis eyes him a bit before crowding back onto the bed and asking, “Is this a pity thing?”

“No.” Harry scooches up his bed using his feet and pulls his bottle of lube out from underneath his pillow. “You can prep yourself or I could lick you out?” he offers.

Louis hesitates in reaching for the lube and throws his face into the mattress. “I’ve never, erm, god, I’ve never timed that before.” His sweet voice gets swallowed into Harry’s bedding.

“You’ve never been eaten out, baby?” Harry asks, dropping the lube and crawling to pull his boy into his arms again. “You want that?” he asks his heated face, pressing kisses on his cheeks.

“Please,” Louis pleads and Harry shushes him, rolling them to situate their positions.

He starts with relaxing Louis’s firm muscles by placing kisses all over his back until the boy is melting into Harry’s covers and wiggling his sweet arse as he giggles. Then he moves down and pets his arse, warming it up with his hands before place two little soft slaps on either cheek and watching the flesh bounce under his palms.

“You have a nice arse,” he tells Louis to distract him while he rolls the fabric of his boxers down. God, Harry drops a hand to palm himself at the sight. “Hands and knees,” he orders Louis, watching the muscles work to move into position. Louis’s arse cheeks jiggle with the movement and Harry catches sight of Louis’s clenching hole.

“Baby, baby do you want my tongue?” he mumbles, almost missing the way Louis wiggles and flushes at his words. “Yeah? Gonna give you my tongue. Lick you open and fuck your cute little hole, baby.”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, his voice muted by his arms covering his face. Harry fixes that issue at once.

“No, baby, let me see your face. Yeah, you look so good right now. Arse up and ready for my tongue.” Louis pulls his face out and stretching his arms across the bed to hold on the covers. Harry has to palm himself some more when he sees how watery Louis’s eyes have become and he hasn’t even touched his boy yet.

He goes for it soon enough, leaning down and peppering soft kisses along Louis’s crack to feel how he relaxes underneath his mouth. Then he swipes ten slow, big licks from his balls to his hole, memorising which muscles jump first and last. He peppers more kisses on, harder kisses directly over his hole and it’s so hot. The way Louis’s arse tries to follow his mouth when he takes it off.

“Want more tongue?” he asks nonsensically, gasping at Louis’s watery cry for more. “Are you crying?” he asks, leaning up and swiping the tendrils of fringe that have fallen on Louis’s face until he sees his wet cheeks, cooing at his boy. “Going to give you everything, baby, okay? Fuck you so good. With my tongue and then with my cock.”

He doesn’t miss Louis’s wail when he crouches down and circles his rim with the point of his tongue. In fact, he licks short, hard stripes of tongue right along his hole until Louis is mumbling incoherently. He has to pull back and spit a few times to keep it all wet, but he goes back to swirling his tongue all along his boy’s hole, letting his tongue breech with every odd swirl. He gives up and starts fucking his tongue in slowly because between how wet he’s making Louis and how wet Louis is making himself, he’s not going to last and he wants to give this boy the best dicking of his life.

He gets up and searches his bedspreads for the lube to do just that and finds the bottle at the edge of the bed.

His tongue made Louis’s rim so wet but Harry makes it wetter with his lube coated finger. Pushing a finger in, stopping until Louis relaxes and gently pushing at his walls and moving in and out. The lube keeps everything wet when he goes for a second finger, using the same technique as his first and speeding it up a bit to watch Louis gasp a bit more through his tears. By the third finger, Harry has to console his dick by rocking himself into Louis’s thigh, slower than his finger but enough that he’s feeling good and rather desperate. By the time he’s done with prep, Louis’s hips and arms are shaking from his effort to hold himself up, so Harry rolls him over onto his back and just looks at him.

“Kiss me,” Louis begs, hands now unclenched from the bed spread and reaching out for Harry.

“I just rimmed you, baby,” Harry explains when he dodges.

Louis keeps making grabby hands after him so Harry gives in and presses a light kiss to his lips, hand moving to pump a little at Louis’s forgotten cock. God, it’s all sticky and wet with precum and Harry shivers.

“Need a condom,” Harry explains again when he pulls away and hops off the bed to grab his jeans from the ground. He finds his wallet and pulls his condom out, not bothering to do more than drop and kick his wallet away so he can get back. 

Before returning to Louis, he strips himself of his boxers and watches how Louis’s chest rises and falls erratically. It’s all so hot he has to climb up and over Louis’s body to press a quick kiss on Louis’s mouth. The kiss gets deepened, to his surprise. Louis licks into his mouth and actually moans, pulling away and grabbing Harry’s shoulder blades with his fingers. Nails dig in and Harry humps forward a bit at the feeling.

“You taste like me,” Louis shouts suddenly, more precum spilling from his cock, making it even wetter. 

Harry doesn’t have anything to say to that, just pulls Louis’s mouth back and grinds down onto him with each flick of Louis’s tongue against his own. They keep like that for a bit until Harry makes the executive decision to move on based on the noises Louis and him are making. He wipes his fingers on his sheets so he can open the wrapper and slide the condom down his length, his cock twitching with the movements, and grabs the lube for a good coat. He pinches himself to calm down.

“You going to fuck me?” Louis asks, sniffling up at him.

Harry wipes his hand on his sheets again so he can wipe a few caught tears from Louis face. “You ready for me to fuck you?” he asks back, kissing his red cheeks.

Louis gasps and wiggles against him. “Wait,” he whimpers. Harry pulls back entirely, pinching the condom on his cock with his fingers. “I want to ride you. Let me ride you.”

“Of course,” Harry agrees, blinking away his surprise.

Louis rolls onto his stomach and points at the headboard. “Want you up there,” he commands and Harry quickly crawls across his bed to lay his overheated skin up against his cool pillows, resting his lower back up against his short, wooden headboard.

Shuffling up to meet with Harry, Louis has as calculated expression on his face. It’s the most focused Harry has seen him since they started. It causes his own heart to speed up, excited for what his boy has planned. When he reaches Harry, Louis turns around and rests his back against Harry’s chest, grinding his arse down into his lap and back against Harry’s cock.

“Look at that,” Harry comments. “Arse looks so good, baby.”  Louis shivers at the comment as he situates himself and Harry can’t help but lean forward and trail kisses from one shoulder to the other. Just a taste at the soft skin resting there.

Louis moans, low and long. “Stop that,” he whimpers, a hand coming out to slap Harry’s face away from Louis’s back. 

Harry leans back again and throws his head back, feeling Louis engulf his cock, slowly but surely. “Fuck yeah,” he tells his ceiling and blindly reaches for Louis’s hips, pouting when Louis slaps his hands away again. “Feels amazing, baby. Take it so well.”

“Stop talking,” Louis whines and looks back to glare at Harry. “Your dirty talk is terrible.”

Harry has to laugh at that, shaking his head back and forth to clear it. He pitches his voice low and exaggerates his moaning until Louis is fully seated on his cock, glaring at him, and trying to keep from laughing. “Oh yeah,” he continues to tease. “Bounce on that dick, baby. Make me feel so good.”

Louis throws his head into his palms. “I will leave, I swear to god.”

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he digs his hands into Harry’s thighs and tentatively starts rocking back and forth, soft pants falling from his lips. The movement definitely stops Harry’s teasings.

“Baby,” he moans, completely serious. “Oh my god.”

Louis’s back muscles relax at that. “Feel good?” Louis asks, quiet but confident. He moves to slowly bring himself up and down, arse cheeks making a soft slapping sound against Harry’s pelvis.

Harry hums and grips his own hair to keep his hands occupied, arousal pooling his lower stomach. “You know it does, baby,” he tells Louis and grunts when the pace starts to quicken even more. “So good.”

Nails dig into Harry’s thighs and the burn of pain peaks his pleasure enough that his hips grind up, throwing Louis off his personal rhythm for a split second but he keeps going, consistent bounces and the occasional deep grind down, fully engulfing the entirety of Harry’s cock.

Harry’s certain the noises he’s making are far more embarrassing than not because he can see his cock plunge in and out of Louis’s hole, feel the tight heat, but he can’t do much more than take it. Not when Louis keeps swatting his hands away.

“Louis,” he begs on a particular deep grind that has his toes curling into his bedspread. “Let me touch you.”

“Wanna give it to me?” Louis asks, voice rough and weak from his efforts.

Harry moans and nods his head. “Let me give it to you, baby.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says and pulls off Harry’s cock, Harry pinching the condom on instinct. Louis crawls up and places his head inn his hands, arse up and waiting.

The sight makes his cock ache, but Harry doesn’t do more than finger a little at Louis’s reddened rim before flipping the boy over on his back and groaning at the sight of his cock. So hard and red, resting on his stomach. Waiting for someone to touch.

“You flexible?” Harry asks Louis, but answers his own question by pushing Louis’s legs up and folding the boy in half. He sinks back in, face screwed in pleasure all while Louis gasps underneath him.

“Oh god, yeah,” Louis moans and slaps at Harry’s face until he opens his eyes. Harry sighs and grinds his cock forward, able to see and feel Louis quake underneath him. He quite likes this change in position and takes his time finding a good pace to fuck his boy, watching him come apart underneath him.

“Touch yourself,” he orders and Louis wanks to the pace of Harry’s thrusts. So Harry slows down, teasing while Louis whines high into the air.

When Harry grabs and plays with Louis’s ball sack, he arches his back and begs, “Please, Harry,” up to the heavens.

Harry plants his hands on either side of his face, pausing to drop kisses on his brow, and then fucks hard and fast, cocking plunging and balls slapping against Louis’s arse. “You close?” he asks, out of breath.

Louis nods and laughs. “So close.”

Harry gives it to him until he can’t wank himself anymore and Harry is replacing his hand with his own. Hard thrusts met with little whines from his boy and Harry isn’t going to last much longer himself. So he fists Louis’s cock and pulls at an unrelenting pace until the boy’s body arches on a high whine, feet kicking out and cock spurting hot and wet everywhere.

“Keep going,” Louis begs but Harry has already pulled out, throwing the condom somewhere on the floor and finishing on Louis’s chest, adding to the cum already drying.

A familiar routine has Harry up and out of bed, grabbing for something to wipe Louis off with. He finds a box of tissues and uses those, not carrying much where the dirtied tissues end up when he throws them away. 

Louis flips over onto his stomach and breaths into Harry’s bed spread, wiggling his arse again. “Fucking hell,” he curses happily and Harry decides not to question it.

Instead, he drops on top of the body, exhausted, and steadfastly ignores the boy’s complaints about his weight. “You’re staying,” he decrees and rearranges them so that Louis is comfortable.

It’s still much too hot for his covers, so Harry doesn’t bother pulling them over himself. He tucks Louis in, kisses his nose, and promptly passes out in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Update by next Monday! Thanks for reading.


End file.
